


you carry my heart in your palms

by IAmNotLost



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom!Stiles, M/M, PWP, Sort of? - Freeform, angsty fluffy porn?, that seems to be the reaction I got on tumblr wheezes, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotLost/pseuds/IAmNotLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Stiles rides Derek, it’s make up sex.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Looking back on it, when they’re both okay, Stiles will sort of realize he may have gotten a 2-in-1 deal that night.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you carry my heart in your palms

**Author's Note:**

> It was requested I move my drabble/fic/things over to my ao3! Here you go c:

The first time Stiles rides Derek, it’s make up sex.

He’s still angry, still ridiculously fucking angry, tearing at Derek’s clothes and biting bruises onto his jaw, doesn’t even watch to see how they heal like he did over the summer. He’s a constant thrum of more, more, _more,_ raking nails over Derek’s skin until his own fingertips ache.  
And he would’ve fucked Derek this time around, really would have, but there was something comforting in knowing that Derek could fuck _him,_ that Derek wasn’t _dead,_ wasn’t dead like everyone had thought he was.

Wasn’t dead and thought it was _no big deal,_ not to say anything. Thought it was, what, a ‘hey, I’m not dead, miscommunication, sorry.’?

Well. Derek thought wrong. _Shocker._

Stiles’ palms tremble as they shove Derek back onto his bed, and Derek goes, of course he fucking goes, and it becomes a scramble to rip off his own clothes and crawl onto Derek, eyes pleading.

Derek doesn’t do anything but press a palm to Stiles’ back, and _fuck._

Stiles controls the pace this time around, hands planted firmly on Derek’s chest as he snaps his hips in quick, hurried rolls, quiet sounds passing from lips, leaving both of them breathless. There’s so much he wants to do with Derek and it shakes him to the core to think that there’s a possibility it’s not going to happen.

He wants to make milkshakes with a faulty blender that explodes all over the kitchen and _Derek,_ wants to have sex with him in his ugly new car, wants to give him a blow job against the table where everyone plans in the loft, wants, wants, _wants,_ and Stiles isn’t going to give it up without a fight.

It isn’t until Stiles moves his hands to Derek’s shoulders and bends forward, tired of the relentless fucking, that Derek does something other than roll with Stiles. He slides both hands down the smooth dip in Stiles’ lower back to his ass, slowing the pace down to something deeper and slower and _actually_ like make up sex, not angry sex.

(Looking back on it, when they’re both okay, Stiles will sort of realize he may have gotten a 2-in-1 deal that night.)

Derek licks Stiles’ sweat-slicked skin, runs his lips over the shell of Stiles’ ear, kisses the hollow of his jaw and sucks a bruise onto Stiles’ neck, and it’s too much. Stiles wants to be _angry_ , wants to be furious. Wants to fight and fuck and scream, but Derek’s moving at a maddeningly slow pace, and it’s so _good_ Stiles can feel it in his toes. He’s aching with it.

They fuck until Stiles is _begging_ for it, cock dragging between their bellies and it’s not enough; Derek’s not speeding up and the way his orgasm builds is almost painful. He comes loudly, sinking his teeth into Derek’s shoulder. There’s white hot pressure at the pit of his stomach and his whole body tightens around Derek, who gasps out an apology against the side of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles’ spine tingles as Derek comes, pressed so tightly against him that he can feel Derek’s heartbeat, can feel the twitch of muscles in his stomach, slowly rolls his hips three, four, five more times until they’re both trembling. And his mouth moves quietly along the fading bite marks, kissing his own apology into the skin, lips burning an invisible brand against it. He’s moving his face over, then, over until he has a cheek rubbing against a stubbled jaw until it prickles red.

There’s a moment of silence before Derek’s tipping his head down, gently nudging Stiles’ face up with the subtle presses of chin and nose, until he finally, _finally_ has Derek’s lips on his for the first time since late July.

Derek licks into Stiles’ mouth something soft and tender, and oh, oh _god._ Derek knows. They both know. This isn’t some summer fuck, not anymore. To be honest, Stiles doesn’t really know if it ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at http://tinyfics.tumblr.com/  
> I take prompts and   
> and friends  
> I take friends too  
> (/ω＼)


End file.
